


Fizzle

by EtLaBete



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Comic Book Science, Frostiron Bang 2016, M/M, Magic, Sexual Tension, mentions of other Avengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8569759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtLaBete/pseuds/EtLaBete
Summary: When Iron Man’s hit with a spell that not only bypasses his magic-resistant suit but also takes up residence in his chest, he’s surprised to find that the energy readings show a striking similarity to magic that lit up Loki’s brain during the battle of New York– magic that hasn’t shown up on any scans of the God of Mischief since. Tony doesn’t want to risk involving the team, especially because he has no idea what the spell’s supposed to do, so the logical course of action is obviously to grab a megaphone and figure out how to summon a Norse god for some answers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 2016 FrostIron Bang submission! I was lucky enough to be paired with the amazing [atanau](http://atanau-art.tumblr.com), who made me some amazing art which you can view [here](http://atanau-art.tumblr.com/post/153201349938/frostiron-bang-2016-for-fizzle-by-etlabetes). The Hulk boxers started as a joke but were made a reality, and for that, I am ETERNALLY grateful. XD 
> 
> Also, many thanks to Pluma for coordinating another FrostIron Bang and helping to keep the fandom alive. :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“I think I’m dying,” Tony says conversationally at the end of the debrief as he and Steve walk out of the room, the rest of the Avengers a few steps ahead of them. They’re all dragging, tired enough that it feels bone deep after a 3-day stint of fighting off the trio of Amora, her walking steroid of a bodyguard, Skurge, and her newest magical boyfriend since Loki stopped returning her calls, Doctor Doom. 

Steve just rolls his eyes. “You’re not dying, Tony.”

Tony scoffs. “Did you see—“

“Her magic barely dented your suit.” Steve says, lips pursing, and then adds, “You’ve done a good job with that anti-magic paint or whatever it is, by the way. We’ll have to implement it with the shield, and maybe find a way to use it for the other Avengers. I wonder if we could work it into Clint’s arrows? I remember the one you made him that disrupted electrical signals. Maybe you could make something similar for magic?”

Steve doesn’t stop, just continues to wax tactical uses of the magic-resistant polymer that took Tony months to get right but Steve still just refers to it as _anti-magic paint_ , like he could buy it at Michael’s Art Supply. That aside, Tony absolutely loves how much things have changed in regards to Steve’s technological understanding and implementation in day to day life. He starts to laugh, amusement mixing with exhaustion-fueled mania, but the sound gets caught somewhere around his clavicle, held up like there’s something lodged in there. The laugh comes out as a wheeze, and Tony sucks the sound back in on instinct. It reminds him that when he mentioned the dying thing only moments before, he was only half being dramatic. There’s definitely something off, an uncomfortable, warm weight in his chest that’s almost fizzy in sensation.

Steve stops talking and glances at him. “Tony? Are you okay?” 

Tony should say more. He should try to convince Steve that there’s something else going on, that he thinks some of Amora’s magic definitely bypassed the polymer and the suit and he doesn’t know what it’s doing other than making his insides itch; instead, he counts to five and then expels the breath he’s holding. As his lungs deflate, the fizzy feeling dissipates, too.  

Interesting.

He clears his throat and grins. “I’m good, Cap. Just tired. Anyway, what color can we paint your shield? Anti-magic paint can be any color. I am a genius, after all.” 

Steve stares at him for a few more seconds, almost like he senses something’s off, but then he shakes his head. “The normal colors, Tony.”

“I think you’d look good in purple, though. Maybe fuchsia. Give it a little bit pizzaz.”

Steve laughs. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you sure?” Tony asks as they round the corner in time to watch Thor all but punch the elevator button in his desire to get back to the tower as soon as possible. “I think it’s high time Old Spangles got a makeover.”

“We’re not painting my shield purple, Tony.” 

“What’s wrong with purple?” Clint asks, holding open the elevator door. Natasha, Bruce, and Thor are already inside, looking haggard and beat up. 

“Nothing’s wrong with the color,” Steve begins. 

“But what?” Clint motions to his jumpsuit. “Something wrong with my color choice? Purple is the color of royalty, Cap. _Royalty_.” 

Steve groans as he and Tony step inside the elevator.

Tony continues arguing with Steve as the elevator climbs to the roof, and then as they climb into the jet that’s going to take them back to Stark Tower. He starts throwing out random colors and patterns, and the others join in even though they all look ready to devour about a dozen pizzas between them while already lying in bed. No one notices that he keeps pressing a fist to his chest, just above the arc reactor, and by the time the jet lands on the Stark Tower helipad, Steve looks ready to throttle them all. 

Some of the tension holding Tony’s back straight as a rod lessens as he enters the Tower. It feels good to be home after dozing in SHIELD cots for the last three days. There’s already food waiting, too, because even when she’s in Malibu, Pepper is the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and while it’s not pizza (to Clint’s very intense dismay), the containers of fried rice, lo men, and beef and broccoli do the trick. No one speaks or even sits; they just stand around the table in the common kitchen and eat directly out of the containers. Natasha and Bruce usually use chopsticks, but they’ve picked up forks like the rest of the team to most effectively shovel food into their faces. 

Tony’s thankful everyone’s tired enough that they don’t see the way he’s poking more fried rice than he’s putting into his mouth. Between the way his chest fizzles up like a can of shaken soda every time he breathes in and the anxiety making his stomach roll, his appetite is relatively non-existent. He should say something. He should— 

Thor breaks the silence, and his booming voice after nearly twenty minutes of silence mixed with the sound of food being chewed makes Tony nearly drop his container. 

“Natasha,” the God of Thunder rumbles, “will you pass me another egg roll, please?” 

Natasha doesn’t even look up, just grabs one and tosses it at his face before anyone else can react. Thor catches it easily and immediately eats half of it in one bite, muttering a “thank you.” Silence resumes. 

Eventually they all disperse, dragging themselves to their rooms to shower and sleep. Tony waits until he’s the last one in the kitchen before he heads to his workshop— he doesn’t want Steve or Bruce’s “you need to sleep” talk— and when the doors swoosh closed behind him, he leans against the glass and presses his knuckles into his breast bone, fighting pressure with pressure. He inhales and forces himself to hold it even as the sparks ignite in his chest. 

“Pop rocks,” he hisses out as he exhales. “It’s like fucking pop rocks.”

“Welcome back, Sir.”

“Always good to be home.”

Tony flattens his hand over the reactor and breathes in deep, enough to make the sizzle of magic uncomfortable. While he can’t be totally sure, he’s had the arc reactor in his chest for years, so he _knows_ the way the energy feels. There’s a rhythm, constant and steady, and even when the other alien energy source crackles above it, the hum of the reactor stays the same. He doesn’t think whatever else is holed up in his chest is affecting the reactor, but there’s only one way to find out. 

“Hey, boot up the scanner, will you, Jarv?”

“Is everything alright, Sir?”

“Just do it, and keep this between us, please. Download all results onto my private server.” 

“Of course.”

Tony strips down to his boxers and then glances down. His arc reactor looks normal, completely unharmed despite the plume of magic that hit him square in the chest. There isn’t a single scratch or bruise on the surrounding skin, either. For all intents and purposes, he looks totally fine, and why shouldn’t he? What Steve said was true: the magic Amora threw at him barely dented his armor, but that still meant there was enough pressure for it to dent metal before it made its way through. Sure, there are more durable metals out there, but the titanium alloy is pretty damned resistant. He chose it for a reason. He’s kept it for a reason, even after remake upon remake of his suit. So, if whatever this is was able to dent the suit, his chest should be completely eviscerated and _it’s not_. 

 _Definitely concerning_ , he thinks as he taps the reactor with his fingertips. 

“It is ready for you, Sir.”

Tony stands stock still while while the scanner does its thing. Blue lines of light trail him from head to toe and back again, creating a life-size holographic silhouette of his body and the functioning energy signals inside of it a few feet away. The scanner was built to detect magical energy as well as technological and organic energies, so the hologram lights up like a Christmas tree with his arc reactor as the misplaced star. 

He’s not surprised to see a flickering just above the reactor that shouldn’t be there. Unlike the reactor’s steady pulse, this energy is chaotic, growing and shrinking as Tony breathes in and out. Its silhouette is rough, the sharp little tendrils reaching away from the main body of energy like little bolts of electricity. 

“What the hell,” Tony mutters. “Jarv, which of these things is not like the others?”

“Well, Sir, it would seem there is a magnet in your chest, to start.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Hilarious, you smartass. Remind me the next time I tamper with AI not to create one in my image. What’s that pretty bundle of lights above the reactor?” 

“Its function is not overtly discernible, and no energy signatures in my database match it, though I am still comparing data.” 

“We’ve got data on Amora, though,” Tony replies. “It doesn’t match her energy signature at all?”

“It does not.”

Tony rubs a hand over his face and through his hair. He’s so damned tired and none of this makes sense. “Well that’s not good. Make sure you’ve got your parameters open for partial matches, and don’t be shy about weeding through SHIELD’s data. Also, let’s get some realtime action going on this little ball of fun. I wanna see what it’s trying to do.”

“Yes, Sir.”

***

Tony’s passed out at one of his worktables, a 3D holographic model of the energy source spinning slowly in front of him, when JARVIS speaks.

“Sir, I’ve found a partial match.”

He wipes drool from the corner of his mouth and rolls the ache out of his shoulders. His watch tells him he’s been asleep for the better part of two hours, which is more than he expected to get. Part of him— the part that’s been mostly awake for the _last 76 hours_ — wants to plop his head back down onto the table top, but then the 3D model disperses into thousands of blue dots and reforms into two energy pattern readouts. 

“Who’s the lucky bachelor?” he asks on a yawn.  

There’s a pregnant pause before the A.I. says, “Loki Laufeyson.”

Of all the people or things Tony expected to show up on the short list, it wasn’t everyone’s favorite God of Mischief. Not only was Loki not there during their spat with Amora and the rest of her love triangle, he’s been exceptionally quiet over the last six months, even deigning to speak with Thor a time or two. Tony’s still not sure what turned the tide, and he figured that while Loki wasn’t blowing shit up, ignorance was bliss.

He’s not so sure now.

He hates that he’s slightly disappointed. While he wouldn’t say he and the god were on the best of terms— kind of hard to forget when someone tries to throw you out a window after launching an alien invasion—he’s become somewhat fond of the way Loki has no problem bantering back and forth with him whenever they happen to see each other. It started when Loki was still blowing shit up regularly, and continued on after he went MIA on the villain front because the mischief definitely hasn’t abated, especially in regards to the Avengers as they were living their day to day lives. 

Tony’s pretty sure he’s the only one who gets a kick out of it, and he’s also pretty sure that’s because he would probably drag Loki to bed if there wouldn’t be Very Serious repercussions in regards to his team. 

“It matches Loki’s magic signature?” he asks.

“On the contrary, it is not compatible with Mr. Laufeyson’s magical signature at all.”

Tony rubs at his face, palm scraping over a cheek in dire need of a shave. “All right, you’re losing me. You said it was a match.”

“The energy signature is a seventy-four percent match, Sir. However, the specific energy signatures recorded in Mr. Laufeyson that are comparable have not shown up on recent scans you’ve managed to obtain while in the Iron Man suit. They are only comparable to very rudimentary scans of Mr. Laufeyson when he was imprisoned on the hellicarrier prior to the Battle of New York.” 

“So this is information you got from SHEILD’s database, then?”

“Yes, Sir.” 

“And it doesn’t match anything with Loki now?”

“No, it does not. I would also like to mention that, like yours, the magical signature was secluded to a single location.”

“And that was?”

“His brain, Sir.” 

“What the ever-loving fuck does that _mean_ ,” Tony hisses and smacks his hand down on the table. A few random mechanical parts rattle before falling still again.

“Sir, I’ve also found another match with a significantly more data attached to it.”

“What?” 

“The percentage of comparability is much lower at twenty-one percent, but it does match energy signatures of the mind-control magic that rendered Agent Barton and several other SHIELD personnel indisposed in 2012.”

Tony’s blood runs cold. “Loki tried that on me. It didn’t work. The reactor stopped it from working.”

“As I stated, it is more dissimilar to the magic that controlled Agent Barton, though a correlation is there.”

“So what about the other match? The seventy-something percent one?”

“There is nothing else to report, Sir. I can only make assumptions since Mr. Laufeyson was not in custody long enough for any other data to be gathered.”

Tony sighs and rubs at his eyes. It feels like his lids are full of sand, but there isn’t any time for sleep. He has more questions than when he started, and he wants them answered now. “Yeah, I’m making assumptions, too, and they’re making me think I need to find Rock of Ages and figure this shit out. But first, coffee. Lots of coffee.” 

***

Tony doesn’t know how someone goes about summoning a god. 

He’s hardly talked to the Christian god he was raised with, let alone an egocentric maniac with a penchant for turning things into snakes. He considers asking Thor, since he’s had a significant amount of contact, all things considered, with his brother over the last few months, but decides pretty quickly that he doesn’t want to get any of the other Avengers involved. Not yet. Not until he knows what the energy signature in his chest has in store for him or what information it can glean. So far, it hasn’t done anything aside from make breathing annoying, but Tony doubts that’s the endgame. 

“JARVIS, label Loki as a friend in the system so the alarms don’t go nuts. I would prefer the others not know he’s here.” 

“Yes, Sir.”

“Well, here goes nothing. Hopefully he doesn’t murder me.” Tony picks up the megaphone, puts it to his lips, and yells, “Hey, Rudolph! Calling all crazy Norse gods! Need a little help here!” 

Nothing happens. 

“Come on. I don’t have time for you to play hard to get. Isn’t this how you’re supposed to talk to gods? Yell at the ceiling and hope they hear you? Or are you going to prove my atheism right?” 

Still nothing.

“I don’t know any Norse prayers, only Catholic ones that don’t work. Come on, give a guy a break.”

And nothing. 

Tony groans and slumps forward. “I should have gone with the Bat Signal.”

“I would so love to see my name in lights.”

Tony stands up so fast he gets dizzy and needs to grab the edge of the worktable to stop himself from teetering over. The sudden spike of his heart rate makes the _buzz buzz buzz_ in his chest worse, which makes him feel sick to his stomach, which only further exacerbates his blood pressure. He focuses on deeper breaths for a few seconds and then looks up. Wobbly vision or not, Loki is definitely standing in front of him, head tilted and lips curved into a devilish smile.

“JARVIS,” Tony croaks. “You couldn’t have warned me?”

“You did opt to list Mr. Laufeyson as an ally, Sir, but you did not ask me to alert you of his presence. Therefore, he was placed under the same restrictions of the others deemed free to come and go from the Tower.”

“You sound like Spock with that bullshit logical reasoning.” 

“Live long and prosper, Sir.”

Tony exhales, hands spread across the tabletop, and bows his head. He thinks he might be at the point in his sleep deprivation and stress cycle where he destroys his workshop so that he doesn’t implode himself. 

“Stark.”

Loki still stands about ten feet away, watching him curiously. He’s not in his Asgardian leathers, but he isn’t dressed casually, either. He’s wearing a well-tailored black suit and a black button-up with the first few buttons undone to reveal the pale skin and the dip of his collarbone. His dark hair is combed back and away from his face, falling across his shoulders in soft waves. 

The god raises a brow. “You called for me. I assume it was not for, as you Midgardians say, shits and giggles.” 

Tony feels a smile tugging at his lips. “Unless that’s your cup of tea, then no, definitely not.” He pulls up the holoscreen. “I need your help.”

Loki’s other eyebrow jumps up to meet the first. “My help?”

He opens the file with his scans, and with a flick of his finger, the hologram of his body flares to life size in front of Loki. It casts a eerily blue glow on the god’s sharp features, and Tony wonders if this was one of his brightest ideas. 

Except Loki’s expression closes off almost immediately, and Tony knows he’s on the right track.

“The big blue light in my chest, that’s normal. The little one above it with the jazz hands, though, that’s not.” 

“How did this happen?” Loki asks as he begins to circle the hologram like a predator stalks its prey. “What transpired?”

“I’m assuming you heard about our little head-on collision with Amora and her band of merry men since it was all over the news. She flung a blast of energy at my chest that dented my armor. I started noticing weird physical effects after the adrenaline wore off.”

“The energy, what color was it?”

“What?”

Loki doesn’t look at Tony, though his lips curl down in an annoyed sneer. “Amora’s magic, her _seidr,_ is green, as is mine. What color was the blast that hit you in the chest?”

“I don’t know. Blue-ish, maybe? I can pull up the recording from my suit, if you need it.”

Loki doesn’t respond. He just closes his eyes and takes a deep breath that he holds for a full ten seconds before he exhales. Tony knows that action well. He uses it a lot, especially at night when he wakes up from nightmares and still feels sand on his skin and blood in his mouth. 

The fact that Loki’s using it now means Tony might actually be fucked. 

“Tell me,” he demands, walking around the workshop table. He waves at the hologram so that it shivers and disappears, then takes its place in front of Loki. “Tell me what’s going on.” 

“You fool,” Loki murmurs as he opens his eyes, and there’s something almost like pity there. “You blithering idiot.”

Tony clenches his jaw. “Still waiting for an explanation.” 

“How did you know to call for me?”

“SHIELD did some scans on you back in the day,” Tony sighs. “They were mostly useless, because it’s SHEILD tech and not Stark tech, but they were able to pick up on energy signatures, magical included. Your head lit up.” He pauses and watches Loki’s face for something, but the god remains stoic. “I have a system installed in the HUD of my suit. It scans all persons it comes across, including you, and those points of focused energy, they’re definitely not there anymore. How did you fix it? What did it do to you?”

Loki swallows, the jut of his Adam’s apple bobbing along his pale neck. “Are you sure you wish to have this conversation in your undergarments?”

Tony blinks and then looks down. “Totally forgot about that.”

“Not that I mind,” Loki drawls, then trails a few cool fingertips down Tony’s chest. He starts at the collarbone, doesn’t bother to skirt around the arc reactor, and ends dangerously low on Tony’s abdomen, fingers touching the elastic band of his briefs. 

Tony cocks his head to the side, trying to hide the shiver that tremors through him. He knows this is a distraction tactic— he knows— but _god_. “Are you seriously hitting on me at a time like this?”

Loki just smiles coyly.

It isn’t the first time. Along with bantering back and forth, the God of Mischief has no problem giving as good as he gets in other departments, and Tony’s pretty sure if he and Loki weren’t on opposite sides of the hero-villain spectrum, they would have ended up in bed together a while ago.

He’s still not sure that won’t happen, given the way the god is gazing at him. 

Especially because he’s tired and a bit amped on caffeine and fear, so he tells himself that he can’t really _help himself_ when he arches into the contact. Loki’s pupils dilate and the smile falls away into something a little more predatory. 

Tony grins despite the electric flutter behind his clavicle. “I’d like a rain check for the touchy-feely portion of this conversation. While I’m all for crazy, irresponsible sex, I’d like to make sure my chest isn’t going to explode like in Aliens. Have you seen that movie?” 

Loki exhales on a chuckle and steps back, though his touch lingers a second or two longer than it needs to. “I have. That will not happen.”

“Okay, then.” Tony goes to a cabinet on the far side of the workshop where he keeps changes of clothing in case he sets himself on fire— which has happened more often than he cares to admit. He’s very, very aware of Loki’s eyes on him as he pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “So, what does happen? Lay it on me.”

Loki walks around the workshop as he speaks, reaching out to touch pieces of machinery and open holoscreens. “That magic is not meant to reside in your chest. It is meant to infiltrate a cognitive center, such as the brain, and latch on. It looks as it does because it literally burrows its appendages into the brain and leeches information.”

“So it’s like a wire tap,” Tony says as he watches the god, thankful that he isn’t working on anything important at the moment since the Loki’s sense of personal space is about as prevalent as Tony’s. 

Loki shrugs. “In a sense, but that is not all. It can provide other methods of interaction, such as visions or hallucinations, and it can stimulate sensory responses.”

“So you’re telling me it’s an all access pass to someone’s brain.”

“Yes.”

“Thank god it didn’t end up in my head, then.”

Loki turns to look at him, frowning. “I would not be thankful just yet. A spell of this nature is not meant to reside in your chest cavity, so I do not know if it will destabilize or damage other tissues in an attempt to find what it needs to function properly. It has a job, and it will mean to do it.”

“So you’re saying it might explode.”

“It is not a bomb, Tony Stark.”  

Tony runs a hand through his hair, mind racing. “So this thing is what happened to you, then?”

Loki’s expression shutters closed again, like he only just realized what he was saying.

“I always wondered if you were completely on board with the whole ‘conquer the world’ thing,” Tony muses with a cluck of his tongue. 

“Oh, Stark, you misunderstand,” Loki murmurs, voice like honey. “I knew what I was doing. I wanted an army. I wanted death and destruction. My anger needed to be satiated.”

Tony raises his brows. “You say that, but I don’t believe you.”

“Why is that?” 

“You just threw off a vibe before, mostly because of the location of your portal thingamajig. There are other energy sources in Manhattan, but you chose the one with the most likelihood to have superheroes in it.”

Loki just blinks.

“Anyway, today just kind of solidifies it for me. If you were unfailingly on board, you never would have needed the magical brain bug in the first place. You don’t seem like the type who likes having their reigns steered for them. Plus, you talk about hallucinations and sensory responses—you mean torture and pain stimulation, right? Something to keep you in line if you wavered. Did you want that, too?”

Loki doesn’t move except for the small muscle that twitches in his cheek. They stare at each other for several long seconds, and even though Loki’s a master at keeping his emotions off of his face, Tony can see it in his eyes. He decides that maybe a slightly change of topic is required before Loki turns something closeby into a snake. 

“I’m going to go out of my way and assume Amora didn’t manufacture this spell.”

Loki’s nostrils flare but he replies, “No, she did not. She is merely a pawn for its delivery.”

“And she botched it up. Awesome job. Why did it dent my suit?”

Loki shrugs again. “Perhaps it is not meant to go through metal, only skin, bone, and tissue.” His voice sharpens. “I did not ask these kinds of questions before the Titan burrowed it into my skull, Stark."

 _Titan._ Tony files that information away for later use. “Do you know how I get rid of it?” 

“Even if I wished to, I cannot help you there,” Loki says. “The spell disassembled when your Hulk smashed me into your parlor floor. I do not know why, and I do not think your mortal body could sustain the amount of force it would take to replicate it.”

Tony strokes his goatee. “Natasha got Clint back the same way. A hard hit to the head.”  

“This is a much different caliber of spell than what I used on your Hawk even though the bones of it are the same.” 

“You just keep giving me bad news,” Tony sighs before he drags his hands down his face. The stubble scrapes uncomfortably at his palms and the magic in his chest flutters uncomfortably. “Fuck.” 

“Such words. I need not help you, Stark. You are my enemy, after all.”

Tony looks up. Loki is glaring daggers at him, his upper lip curling. 

“You’re right,” he says. “You don’t have to help me. Doesn’t mean I won’t try to change your mind.”

Loki scoffs. “What could a mortal such as yourself offer me?” 

“Revenge.” 

Loki stills.

Tony takes a few slow steps towards the god as he speaks. “See, once upon a time, a very attractive inventor almost died, but that wasn’t the worst of it. He was betrayed and tortured, too, and they wanted to force him to do things he didn’t want to do. He was a lot like you, though. A stubborn son of a bitch. He got out, and he made them pay, and then he got his shit together and blew up the bastard who orchestrated it all in the first place.”

“What do you know of what I suffered,” Loki hisses. 

“I don’t know what you suffered. You keep your cards pretty close to your chest, and your poker face is fucking fantastic.” Tony takes another step forward. “But I know what the burning desire for revenge looks like, pal. It’s an old friend of mine. Did you find out Amora was working with the Titan that put the spell in your head? Is that why you broke things off with her and took a villainy sabbatical?” 

Loki licks at his lips. “You are dancing with fire, Tony Stark.”

Tony grins, emboldened. “I have a robot that has an unhealthy obsession with fire extinguishers. I’ll be fine.” 

“You do not understand the risks.”

“So tell me. I’m willing to hear you out even though I already know my answer.” 

Loki closes his eyes, lips set in a grim line, and for a moment, Tony doesn’t think he’ll say anything. He looks profoundly irritated in the way Steve looks irritated when Tony throws out dumb attack plans that he thinks will never actually work. 

Tony sees it, though— the moment the god throws caution to the wind.

“The Mad Titan is not like Dr. Doom or Hydra or any of the petty villains you’ve faced so far,” Loki says quietly. “He destroys worlds. Entire galaxies. The Chitauri were nothing compared to the army he will bring.”

“Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll keep you safe.” He ignores the way Loki’s eyes snap open and widen and continues on with, “Now, let’s try and get rid of this thing in my chest, huh? Lots of sensitive information to gather if it finds its way to my brain, and we don’t want your friend having any of it.”

Tony isn’t even sitting at his favorite worktable yet before Loki speaks.

“Your Dr. Banner.” 

“What about him?”

“I am assuming you have data on his other form,” Loki says. “Specifically, the amount of force he is capable of exerting. Perhaps it would be possible to utilize a different method that would not end your life but provide the desired effect.”

Tony stares.

Loki stares back, and when Tony doesn’t say anything, he snaps, “What is it?”

Tony laughs and runs a hand through his hair. “Nothing. I forget that you’re as smart as you are beautiful.” He winks, and before Loki has a chance to bristle— Tony can see it starting in the way his eyes narrow— he jumps right into, “Let me run a few things by you, scientist to magician.”

“I am a sorcerer,” Loki sneers, “and I don’t think you constitute as a _scientist_.” 

“All right, Gandalf, from genius inventor to sorcerer. Take a seat and let’s talk logistics.” Tony pats the stool next to him. “And don’t touch anything.”

“This changes nothing between us, Stark,” Loki states tersly. 

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll call it a temporary truce.” 

“I still do not understand what I get out of it.”

“Teen Titan’s end goal is here, right? He’ll come to Earth?”

Loki offers a barely-there nod. “He will want the scepter back, at the very least, and he never only takes what is considered the very least.”

“Can any of us defeat him on our own?”

“No,” the god says without hesitation.

“Well, congrats, then. You just earned yourself a front row seat in helping blow his ass back to void he came from.” Tony holds out his hand. “Deal’s a deal. You want in, and you’ve got it.”

“You do not have the authority do make such promises.”

“I don’t go back on my word,” Tony states. “And after hearing what he’s done to you, villain or not, no one’s got any right to deny your involvement.”

There’s something hot in the way Loki looks at him—it’s not sexual, but there’s still a heat there, and Tony nearly fidgets in his seat. 

“I am prophecized to bring about the end of times,” Loki finally replies, his words measured. “Great seers of Asgard state that Ragnarok comes, and it comes on my heels.”

“And Ragnarok is the end of times? Like, zombie apocalypse-type deal?”

Loki scoffs. “The way your mind makes connections is astounding, Stark. But yes, it is a zombie apocalypse-type deal, though probably with more fire.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes intent. “Knowing this, you still ask me to join you? You are willing to fight for my place at the table, as they say.”

Tony considers it for about two seconds before he waggles his fingers and eyebrows at the same time. “I don’t believe in prophecy and all that bullshit. You make your own luck, and you make your own fate. So, yeah, I’m in.

Loki grabs his hand before the last word is out of Tony’s mouth. His skin is surprisingly cool and smooth compared to Tony’s hot, calloused hands. “You and the Titan share something in common, then.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony smirks. “What’s that?”

“You both court Death,” the god murmurs, his thumb swiping over Tony’s knuckles in a way that makes chills ripple down Tony’s spine and something flutter in his chest that isn’t magic. “Shall we get to work? Sorcerer to genius inventor.” 

Tony grins. 

They get to work despite the palpable tension. Tony explains types of energy—kinetic, thermal, nuclear, electrical—and how his systems can read their signatures. He shows Loki the rest of the scans he’s amassed of some magic-wielding friend and enemies, including the before and after he and SHIELD collected from the god himself. He doesn’t show Loki the detailed scans of the arc reactor or Mjolnir on the crazy chance Loki’s just playing him. He wants this thing out of his chest, but not enough to place Thor in more danger than he’s usually in when it comes to Loki… or to place the arc reactor’s capability in the wrong hands.

Loki brings up Mjolnir on his own, however. 

“Thor’s hammer,” Loki muses. “It is an energy source in and of itself. Thor controls it, but he does not power it. My _seidr_ is different, as I draw it from within myself. Magic can be bestowed or innate, but either way, I think they both function similarly to the energies you explained.” 

“So you’re basically a walking bag of energy?”

“I am.” Loki leans forward and drags his fingers down the front of Tony’s chest, nails biting into skin before they scrap across the casing of the arc reactor beneath his t-shirt. “So are you.”

Tony stills. If he wanted to, the god could reach over and rip the tech right out of Tony’s chest. Tony tries not to be too turned on by the power dynamic they’ve got going on. “Bestowed versus innate. Not the same by your standards.”

Loki grins wolfishly. “So you are listening. I can see your mind wander as I speak, Stark. It amazes me that one such as yourself can focus long enough to complete a task.” 

Tony hears the words, but doesn’t respond. Instead, his thoughts race from the hum of the arc reactor to Loki’s hand, still on his chest, to Steve’s words earlier that day about the magic paint and EMP arrows. He thinks about the day Loki tossed him out a window, the clink of the staff to his chest and Loki’s confused expression, his stilted utterance of, “This usually works.”

“Son of a bitch,” he says suddenly and focuses on Loki. 

The look the god is giving him is enough to make Tony’s groin tighten. The grin is gone and instead Loki stares at him, lips slightly parted and pupils dilated. 

“I, uh,” Tony states eloquently.

“Tell me,” Loki replies, the corners of his lips quirking upward. “Tell me what you’ve determined.”

Tony exhales slowly, the magic in his chest buzzing painfully combined with his elevated heart rate, and ignores the way Loki’s hand slides lower, the tip of his middle fingers barely touching the arc reactor. “So, magic is just another source of energy, right? And all energies operate on a frequency.” 

Loki’s palm presses flat against his abdomen. “So you’ve stated.”  

Tony swallows and resists the urge to press forward into the god’s touch. “Well, different energies can feasibly cancel each other out, then. Think about your scepter with the arc reactor. It didn’t work.”

The god stills just before the heel of his hand presses against the definite bulge in Tony’s pants, and Tony has to stop himself from bucking his hips up. 

“I think that’s what happened to you when Bruce smeared you across my beautiful floor. You mentioned mimicking the force he exerted, but what if it was more about the frequency being disrupted? Kinetic energy versus whatever the hell Teen Titan fights with. I mean, it’s a long shot, but it might work.”

Loki stares at Tony for another few moments before he bows his head. His eyes flutter closed on a breathy chuckle. 

“What?” Tony asks, a tiny hint of desperation in his voice.  

“Nothing,” Loki murmurs and then pulls back. When he looks up at Tony, the odd smile is gone. 

Tony rubs at his face, suddenly exhausted. “You know what blue balls are?”

Loki tilts his head to the side. “I do not.”

“Look ‘em up sometime and get back to me,” Tony grumbles. “In the mean time, yeah, let’s just get to work.”

Loki stands, brushing imaginary dust from his slacks. “I don’t think you need my help at this point in time.” 

Tony stands, too. “What do you mean? You’re leaving?”

“You have the information you need, Tony Stark, and your expertise is sufficient for obtaining your goal. What on earth would my being here accomplish other than to distract you?” 

Tony opens his mouth, but he’s got nothing. Loki’s right, of course. Now that he knows what the magic is and how it works, he can make the data and his tech do the rest of the work. He thinks something like a sonic boom might be able to jostle the spell enough to fracture the frequency, but that’s going to require some testing to make sure it won’t also shatter the reactor and compress his internal organs in the process. 

And yet, he doesn’t want Loki to leave, which is a whole different bag of cats to contend with. He isn’t sure if its the sleep deprivation or his libido talking, neither of which usually point him down particularly responsible paths. 

Or maybe it’s the fact that the god is beautiful and intelligent and complex, and goddamnit, Tony wants more in life than the super villain of the week and a band of merry men and Natasha to be it for him. 

“You sure you don’t wanna see if it works?” he tries, even though he doesn’t think this particular method of attack will work on Loki. 

“That is not necessary,” the god states, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “For as foolish as you are, I trust your capabilities.” 

Tony gives a low whistle. “Oh, compliments. Flowers next? Gonna invite me to dinner and a movie? This is moving fast, don’t you think?”

Loki laughs, lines creasing his cheeks and the corners of his eyes, and then there’s a flash of gold and he’s gone. 

“Damn, I think that was a legitimate laugh,” Tony sighs and rubs his sweaty palms on the thighs of his pants. 

“Sir, now that Mr. Laufeyson has left the premises, I would recommend you do two things. The first would be advising me to remove Mr. Lafeyson from the Stark Tower guest list, and the second would be me advising _you_ to sleep before you continue any work on this particular project.”

“Thanks for the recommendations, Mom,” Tony says and then yawns. “I’ll take a cat nap, I guess. Set an alarm for six hours and make sure there’s coffee brewing when I wake up. I want this thing out of my chest as soon as possible.” 

“Yes, Sir. And regarding Mr. Laufeyson?”

“Leave him on the guest lip, Jarv. Just make sure to tell me if he ever enters the building.” Tony trudges over to the futon in the corner of his workshop and all but falls onto it. 

“I think it is a bad idea, Sir.” 

“Of course it is,” Tony says and yanks the Iron Man blanket Pepper got him two Christmases ago as a joke over his body. He’s more aware of the ache in his limbs now that he’s not moving or being distracted by gorgeous, evil Norse gods, and sleep is probably a good idea. No amount of caffeine ever works on exhaustion this bad. “Night, Jarv.”

“It is six o’clock in the morning, Sir.”

Tony’s already asleep. 

***

Tony makes JARVIS snooze his alarm a grand total of twelve times, but once he gets up, he’s revved and ready to go. 

“Ms. Potts called while you were asleep,” JARVIS states as Tony pours himself a cup of coffee.  

“What did she want?”

“Just to make sure you were still alive, Sir, as always. She was thrilled to hear you were resting.”

“Good, it’ll keep her away for a few days while I take care of this.” Tony rolls his head on his shoulders, fingers curled around his mug, and sits at his workstation. “And the others? Anyone come down?”

“Captain Rogers expressed some concern, but I informed him you were asleep and had barred anyone from entering the workshop.”

“Perfect,” Tony murmurs. He’s still hesitant to get any of the others involved, though he knows if he doesn’t figure shit out soon, he’s going to have to let them know in case there’s a kill switch in this spell, or it finally claws its way back out of his chest so it can lodge itself in his brain. He winces at the thought and pushes it aside before saying, “Well, Jarv, time to get to work.”

He starts with his first idea, but a few tests prove that the sonic boom is definitely not going to work unless Tony wants an exploded arc reactor and some brand new bits of debris digging their way towards his heart. The frequency would also have to be strong enough that it would probably damage his ear drums and maybe rattle around his internal organs a bit. While he’d deal with those things, he can’t risk the arc reactor, and he can’t risk taking it out to allow the sonic boom to do its job. He’s almost positive there would be no way to keep his heart rate low enough that it wouldn’t allow the shrapnel to move, and any mobility could slice up some necessary tissues and veins. 

It’s frustrating, because he’s pretty sure the sonic frequency would be enough to interrupt the spell, but it won’t matter if he’s dead or fatally injured.

He scraps it and goes with his next best idea that came from— of all people— Steve freaking Rogers. He remembers their conversation about the EMP arrows he made for Barton and how Steve wanted something similar incorporating whatever Tony did to make his suit somewhat magic-proof. An EMP won’t affect magic, but he could definitely put together an EMP-esque device that _does_. It proves harder than he anticipated, though, because he needs a conflicting pulse strong enough that won’t do any physical damage.

He’s three days in and dozing at his worktable after several failed attempts when the idea hits him like a ton of bricks in the form of a nightmare he has on a weekly basis. He jolts up, heart pounding and a cold sweat prickling his back. The room tilts for a second and his ears ring, and he has to grab onto the edge of his seat to stop himself from toppling out of the chair. The spell feels like it’s rolling in his chest, claws out, and he has to grit his teeth against the sensation. 

“Holy shit,” he huffs and bends forward until his forehead rests against the worktable. 

“Sir? Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I think I know what might work.” He lets out a breathy laugh, eyes closed tight enough that splotches of color flash in the darkness. “If we still have specs on it, anyway. That would be good. Great, even. Then I don’t have to start from scratch.”

“What specs would I be searching for, Sir?”

He turns his head, cheek against the table top, and opens his eyes. His vision is still a bit hazy, either from the head rush of sitting up too quickly or the spell is finally starting to destabilized. He thinks it’s probably the latter, what with the way his chest is aching something fierce. He ignores it as best he can watches as his breath fogs up the metal tabletop. “Obadiah’s sonic device.”

There’s a pregnant pause before the AI states, “I am searching the archives now, Sir.” 

Thinking about the piece of tech that allowed his friend and father-figure to pluck his arc reactor out of his chest makes him feel sick and angry and a host of other things he normally and artfully represses, but it’s too good of a lead to ignore. The EMP idea isn’t coming together as well as he’d hoped, and he’d rather not prove Loki wrong and have the spell tear its way out of his chest. He doesn’t know what his timeframe looks like, and he can’t risk it. 

Nightmare it is. 

“I have good news and bad news.”

“Lay it on me.” 

“While I have no blueprints for the device on any of the Stark Industries servers or in the archives, a device that resembles Mr. Stane’s sonic ear set was released back to Stark Industries following the 2009 explosion and proceeding investigation. It is currently in storage in a secure location in California.”

Tony closes his eyes again. “Tell me we have access to it.” 

“I’ve already put in an order for its immediate shipment.”

“What’s its ETA?”

“Tomorrow morning, Sir.” 

“Praise Jesus,” he says and then grins. “Or Norse gods. Seems more accurate in this situation.” 

***

Tony doesn’t risk sleeping in his own bed even though he wants nothing more than silk sheets and memory foam. The suites on the upper floors aren’t bombproof _yet_ ; plus, the workshop is insulated with concrete and metal to account for Tony’s tendency to blow things up. It makes sense that he keep himself locked in on the off chance he was going to go nuclear. It didn’t seem likely, but Tony’s not willing to risk it, especially not since several of the Avengers are still in the building. 

The downside are his sleeping arrangements. Money can buy a lot of things, but even the most expensive futon is a piece of shit, and Tony gives up trying to sleep after about five a.m. due to the amazing pain zinging up his spine and the now constant zinging flutter in his chest.

So, he drinks coffee and keeps working on the magical EMP idea, because even if he doesn’t need it now, it’s still a good piece of tech to have, what with the increasing number of powered people trickling onto their radar. He’s in the middle of tinkering with one of the doom bots he had hauled back to his lab when JARVIS notifies him about a package. He’s able to retrieve it without running into any of the other Avengers, thank god, and hurries back down to his workshop.

It’s amazing, really, how a small, unassuming package can make someone with Tony Stark’s experiences shudder. He ignores the thudding of his heart as he runs his hands over the box and then carefully opens it. Behind the insulated cardboard, there’s a black plastic container. Tony detaches the lid and sets it aside.

The device is just like he remembers it— a sleek, black remote with a startling red button and a pair of ear buds. There are scratches across the otherwise smooth surface of the remote, jagged marks that might mean nothing but outline the history of Obadiah’s betrayal. Tony swallows down the lump in his throat. He hates the flimsy feeling in his gut and the clamminess of his skin, like he might throw up. 

“Time to call Reindeer Games back,” he rasps. “I’m going to need a second set of hands for this.”

“Sir, I must protest,” JARVIS states immediately.

Tony looks at the ceiling. “What?”

“While Mr. Laufeyson has been helpful thus far, I would caution you against putting too much trust in him.”

“Who else am I supposed to call, Jarv? In case you didn’t notice, my options are limited.”

“In case _you’ve_ forgotten, Sir, the Avengers are all in this building at this very moment. Captain Rogers and Mr. Odinson would be prime candidates for this specific situation given their heightened abilities.” 

“Nope,” Tony says, shaking his head. “I can’t risk it.”

“And yet you’re willing to risk Mr. Laufeyson having access to your workshop and your arc reactor while you’re paralyzed?”

“So much sass,” Tony mutters. “Lock everything down. I don’t want any of the servers accessible via the holoscreens. Keep the suits and everything else labeled as classified locked up, and if he tries to get in, get Thor’s ass down here immediately. Limit Loki’s friendly status to this room only.”

“And if he tries to the take the reactor?” 

Tony’s thought about it. He’s thought about how he drew a parallel between himself and Loki using the story of Obadiah’s betrayal, and how fucking ironic would it be if Loki used this opportunity to rip the reactor from Tony’s chest. From a villainy standpoint, it makes perfect sense because Loki could theoretically use it defensively against any magic similar to the scepter. If he were smart— and Tony knows the God of Mischief is nothing short of brilliant— he’d figure out how to use it as a weapon.

And yet…

He doesn’t think this is a ploy. Loki’s got too much to lose, and he’s 99.9 percent sure the story Loki wove together regarding the Titan was all truth. Plus, he’s seen too much of the god’s true colors over the last two days— his fear when Tony brought up the scans, the painfully blatant excitement regarding Tony’s thought process, the smile and genuine laugh before the god disappeared. It’s a hunch, but it’s as naggingly persistent as the magic scraping at the inside of his chest cavity, so he’s willing to go with his gut. It’s worked before. 

He doesn’t say all of that aloud. JARVIS has protocols, sure, but the AI’s been known to push the boundaries before. Instead, he just shrugs and says, “I’ll have to take that chance. I can’t risk Thor or Cap being injured, killed, or impaled by this spell if it goes south. They need to be here and not compromised.” 

He swears he can hear JARVIS tsk before he says, “Yes, Sir.” 

“Glad we’re in agreement,” Tony grumbles and picks up the megaphone. “Dear Abby, I’m having trouble finding this God of Mischief whose services I require. Is there any way you can help me?”

Nothing.

 “You’re my only hope, Loki Won Kenobi.”

“Perhaps I should be merciful and just put you out of your misery,” Loki says from behind him. 

Tony grins and spins around. 

Loki stands there, arms crossed over his chest, in another shockingly Earth-esque outfit that makes Tony wonder what the god does in his down time. He isn’t wearing a jacket this time, just dark slacks and a pristinely unwrinkled slate gray button up, and his hair is pulled back into an artfully messy bun with a few loose curls framing his face. 

Tony wonders if the god styles his hair, but is pulled from his thoughts when Loki clears his throat.

 “Your mission,” Tony orates, “if you choose to accept it, is to not let me die while I listen to some fun sounds that will completely paralyze me and hopefully disrupt my magical parasite.” 

“Could your computer not do this job?” Loki asks with an eye roll. “I am a God, Tony Stark, not your babysitter.”  

“JARVIS can only do so much without a living, intelligent person to act upon his recommendations, and I can’t get the Avengers involved. That’s where you come in, since you’re my next best friend.” 

Loki snorts. “That is an incredibly sad thing to say.”

“Yeah, well, when all of your friends maintain National Security and work for the government or other such secretive organizations, it’s hard to branch out.”

He grabs Loki’s hand without warning and ignores the way the god stiffens. When the touch lingers, Loki looks up, pinning him with a terrifyingly blank look. 

  “JARVIS will monitor my vitals,” Tony says, allowing the pad of his thumb to brush over Loki’s knuckles before he turns the god’s palm over and deposits the earbuds and remote. “I just need you to wear those, press the button on that remote with it next to my ear, and be ready to act if something goes wrong.”

Loki stares down at the hardware. “And what if I cannot stop what goes wrong?”

“Well, then we gave it an old college try.”

As he’s turning away, the god grabs his wrist, and Tony sucks in a breath when he careens back into Loki’s chest. The god is like a stone wall, unmoving despite the jolt of contact, and he doesn’t let go, either. Instead, he uses the grip to close whatever distance remains between them until he’s flush against Tony, lips almost brushing the shorter man’s ear. 

“How do I know this is not a trap?” he murmurs, breath cool. 

Tony’s heart beats double-time. The spell prickles inside of his chest like pins and needles. “You’re the God of Lies, aren’t you?” he manages. “Shouldn’t you be able to tell if I’m lying?” 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Loki’s teeth nip the top of his ear.

“Do not sass me, Tony Stark.”

Tony presses into the man behind him, back arching slightly, and hears the surprised intake of breath. It makes him reckless and bold, and even worse, it turns him on so goddamned much. He wants to reach behind him and grab the god’s hip for better leverage, but he also doesn’t want to lose that hand, so he settles for dropping his head back on Loki’s shoulder and turning towards him, his lips ghosting against the god’s jaw. “I’ll sass you until the fucking cows come home if you do that again.” 

Loki laughs, a breathy chuckle, and dips his head until his lips are barely a millimeter from Tony’s.

And then he steps back, pushing Tony forward at the same time. 

Amazingly, Tony keeps his balance. He takes a moment to compose himself because the disappointment stings, but he knows they don’t have time for this, and he knows he shouldn’t even want it as much as he does. Part of him, the part that is completely unruly, thinks Loki wants it, too— that this isn’t just some ploy to wrap Tony up in his web—but he can’t have a way of knowing, now with everything lingering above them like a storm cloud. He can’t have a way of knowing, and he can’t risk it, not now.

He wonders if he’ll ever be able to toss caution to the wind when it comes to the God of Mischief, because goddamn, he wants to.

When he turns around, he tries to keep his expression schooled. He doesn’t know what his own face looks like, probably flushed, but Loki looks calm and collected. He watches Tony like a hawk as he tucks a curl behind his ear and puts in the first earbud, then the second. 

“Shall we begin, then?” he asks.

Great poker face, but Tony does’t miss the slightest hint of gravel in the god’s voice. He takes a seat in a computer chair he rolled out to the middle of his workspace and tries not to grin. “All ready.” 

Loki moves. 

 _So much for moving on_ , Tony thinks. He can feel desire coiling in his gut at the way the god all but stalks up to him with measured paces. _This is not the time_ , he tells himself, but it’s better than the alternative, because if he focuses on the sight of the blue lights on either side of Loki’s head, his stomach drops. 

Old fears die just as hard as old habits. 

He’s forced to crane his neck back as Loki gets closer, and Loki doesn’t break eye contact as he stops just shy of standing between Tony’s knees. He leans forward slightly, and Tony’s stomach is dropping for a whole different reason now because Loki looks positively sinful.

“Are you ready, Stark?” he asks, his voice low and velvety. 

“Born ready,” Tony rasps, unable to stop the way he grips the arms of the chair. 

Loki presses the switch on the red-tipped remote.

There’s a high-pitched whine he can barely hear, and then every little thing Tony was feeling before is halted so suddenly the breath whooshes out of his lungs. Fear tightens his throat, and he wants to reach up, but he can’t, everything frozen so that he’s dead weight in the chair. His heart rate slows as the rest of him shuts down, the heat leeches out of his face and limbs, but it still thunders in his ears like a steady drumbeat. Tears form at the corners of his eyes and he can’t blink them away, can’t wipe them away, can only stare with blurred vision up at the god who stares back at him, dark brows cinched together and pupil-blown eyes intently traveling across the planes of Tony’s face. 

He’s so completely numb to everything that he can’t even tell if the spell is breaking apart, and that scares him more than anything. 

“You may turn the device off now, Mr. Laufeyson,” JARVIS states.  

Loki tilts his head to the side, expression inscrutable. “What occurs if it remains on?” 

 _Cognitive damage_ , Tony’s mind supplies, frenzied. It’s working just fine even though his body is useless, and it reminds him that Loki is a villain on holiday even though they were just minutes away from doing the deed in his workshop. _Hearing loss. Nerve dysfunction. Permanent paralysis._

“You do not have the clearance for me to divulge that information.” The A.I. pauses. “You do not have clearance at all, in fact, so I request again that you turn off the device, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“As you wish,” the god hums with a smirk. He presses the button, still staring down at Tony. 

Tony doesn’t feel any better when the sound disappears. His can hardly feel his body, and what he does still sense is cold and numb. He tries not to think about what else he’ll feel like if this doesn’t— hasn’t— worked and the spell still remains grasping in his chest like a fucking cactus. 

“How long will he be like this?” the god asks, gingerly removing the earpieces. He sets them and the remote down on a worktable before walking back towards Tony. 

“It will take the effects about thirty minutes to diminish.” 

“Fascinating,” Loki murmurs, circling the chair. “When will we know if it has worked?”

“Please step back so I may begin the scanning process.”

Loki reaches out with his free hand and brushes hair from Tony’s forehead. His facial expression is guarded as he stares down, but from what Tony can see of his ministrations, his fingers are gentle. Villain on holiday or not, Tony wishes he could _feel_ it instead of thinking about what could go wrong, about Pepper being shot in the chest the last time this happened, about dragging himself across the floor—

“You have nothing to fear from me at the moment, Tony Stark,” the god murmurs as he leans closer, the words quiet enough that they’re obviously meant for Tony’s ears only. “I may be your enemy, but I am not cruel enough to dispose of you while you are in such a state. You have succeeded in peaking my interest in your intellectual capability, at the very least, and my respect is not won so easily, as Thor will tell you.” 

Tony wishes he could laugh at the ridiculousness of this moment.

“That being said, I should caution you. Whatever we are now, whatever may pass between us while we remain in this partnership, you are not my friend, and your trust in me while you are so painfully indisposed of is unwise.” His hand slides down to cup the side of Tony’s face. “Regardless of whatever security protocols your computer has in place, they could not save you if I had a mind to end your life.” 

Tony wonders, briefly, why people feel the need to utter a goddamned soliloquy when he’s paralyzed and unable to answer or act, because right now, he wants to surge forward, grab Loki by the back of the neck, and drag him into a kiss that would leave even a god breathless. 

“Mr. Laufeyson, I will need you to step back.” 

Loki lingers for another moment, staring down into Tony’s eyes with that annoyingly guarded expression, but then sighs and follows the AI’s directions.When he’s standing several feet away, he extends a hand to the ceiling in invitation. “You may begin.” 

JARVIS tsks, but the scanner powers on. Tony is encompassed by lines of blue light that trail up his body. 

“How long until you know for certain?” the god asks again.

“It will take approximately forty-two minutes.”

 _Mother hen_ , Tony thinks, because he knows it’s a lie. JARVIS will have results almost immediately, but he’s not surprised that he doesn’t want to deliver them while Tony is still immobile. 

It’s a long wait, all things considered, and instead of wandering around the workshop, Loki stays put. He sits on the edge of one of the worktables, arms crossed over his chest, and stares off at nothing in particular, his eyebrows drawn and his lips pursed together in a frown. Tony would kill to know what he was thinking.

He would kill more to completely skip over the part of the process where his body wakes up. 

His hear rate picks up first, faster and stronger under his chest aches from it. The pins and needles start in his fingers and toes start next, and the horrible feeling expands inward until his entire body is a live wire. Loki’s attention snaps back to him the moment Tony utters a guttural groan and spasms in the chair. The god pushes away from the worktable and is by his side in three long strides, leaning forward into Tony’s space, his hands clasping the arms of the chair just above Tony’s.

“Breathe, Stark,” Loki murmurs.

Tony does— tries to, anyway, as much as he can with his teeth clenched—even though every breath sends another wave of painful tingling through him. His fingers dig into the chair until his knuckles turn white, and he hisses against the jolt after jolt of pain the slithers through his skin up his arms. 

“You might have warned me that this is how you would react.” 

“Shut up,” Tony grits out. 

Loki laughs gently and leans another several inches until they’re cheek to cheek. “Listen to my breathing, Stark, and mimic it.”

Loki breathes like he did when Tony summoned him to his workshop: a breath in, hold for ten seconds, a breath out. Tony mimics him as best he can even though a stray curl tickling Tony’s neck is driving him mad. That and the coolness of Loki’s cheek against his own, the god’s breath billowing across his ear, the burning sensation in his hands and feet as the blood finally starts to normally flow again, uninhibited by distorted signals from his brain to his heart. 

He closes his eyes as his pulse starts to normalize. “JARVIS,” he rasps. “Results.”

“Thirty-six minutes exactly,” Loki mutters. “I knew your computer lied.”

Tony’s laughs is breathy at best.

“Primary scans reveal that the magic signature in your chest seems to be gone, Sir,” JARVIS states. 

“Oh, thank god,” Tony sighs, sagging forward until his forehead rests against Loki’s shoulder. Loki stiffens to accommodate the weight shift, but doesn’t pull away. “Jarv, any damage noted?”

“Further scans will need to be performed to accurately detect any damage.” 

“Can’t be worse than what’s already in there,” Tony mutters and angles his head slightly. He sees the corner of Loki’s jaw and an expanse of neck. “Still with me, Princess?”

Loki snorts. “I am standing here while you drape yourself over me like a damsel, am I not?”

“You should probably be way more excited that I’m not going to explode than you’re letting on.” 

“Should I?” Loki asks lowly.

Suddenly, the chair tips backwards. Tony lets out an undignified yelp and grips the armrests as it reclines further back, lifting his feet from the ground and forcing his head to hit the cushioned headrest with an audible thud. Loki looms over him, eyes dark, and before Tony can say anything, the god dips forward.

The sound that Tony makes when their lips touch is nothing short of indecent. 

Loki tastes like a snow storm, and he kisses with the same languid dominance he does everything else. The hint of teeth makes Tony groan, and when Loki draws his tongue over Tony’s bottom lip, Tony has no doubt that the god is demanding entrance. Tony lets go of the armrests and wraps one hand around the back of the god’s neck while the other pulls the ponytail containing Loki’s hair out so that he can run his fingers through the mass of dark waves. 

He doesn’t miss the minute shiver that courses through Loki. 

“Jesus fuck,” he rasps against Loki’s lips. 

Loki laughs and murmurs, “Is this excited enough for you?” 

Tony grips a handful of the god’s hair and forces him to tilt his head back. Surprisingly, Loki doesn’t fight him. “Getting there,” he says, and then licks a stripe from the dip of Loki’s clavicle to his Adam’s apple. 

The god hums. “You are bold, Tony Stark.” 

“I’m a lot of things.”

“That you are, and one of them is mortal.” 

Loki pulls back, and as bold as he might be, Tony’s not about to try and strong-arm the god by his hair and chance his chair turning into some man-eating Asgardian beast. He lets go and grabs the armrest again instead so he doesn’t catapult forward.

“What’s that have to do with anything?” he chances.

Loki smirks, his eyes heavy-lidded and his lips pink. He looks positively sinful with his hair tousled, too, and Tony has to force himself to stay in the chair. 

“Your body needs time to heal,” Loki says, his words rough. “There will be damage left behind from the Titan’s spell, and I can only imagine what that device has done to your brain. And do not get me started on the way you deprive yourself of sleep.”

Tony sags back against the chair and huffs out a laugh. “If you weren’t interested, you could have just said so.” 

“I would not have deigned to touch you if I were not interested.” Loki reaches forward and draws his index finger along the length of Tony’s bottom lip. “We have time yet, Stark, or do you not remember our bargain? You are stuck with me until the Titan comes.” 

“I hope he takes his time,” Tony says and punctuates the statement with a grin and a kiss to the tip of Loki’s finger. 

Loki laughs again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You are reckless.” 

“Life is short for us mortals. Need to make use of the time we have.”

“How poetic and so very true.” Loki takes a step back, his hand falling back to his side. “Until next time, Stark. Try not to maim or kill yourself before I return. I will expect to start where we have left off.”

“You got it, Princess.” 

Loki rolls his eyes but is still smiling when he shimmers gold and disappears. 

“Well, Sir, I have been witness to many of your indiscretions, and that certainly takes the cake, I believe in the saying.”

Tony groans and leans back in the chair. “Can it, JARVIS. And I know you were recording, so do me a favor and download the last ten minutes onto my StarkPad, will you?”

“You are a pinnacle of class, Sir.” 

 


End file.
